you had planned a heavy grace, an anguished dream
by get thee to a patisserie
Summary: How much had they plucked asunder from the other, until there no longer was a Rey or Kylo Ren, no you nor I, remaining—but simply one lost, lonely creature grasping at its own reflection?


_you had planned a heavy grace, an anguished dream_

_but the dark pines of your mind dip deeper_

—

_(you have compassion for her)_

He feels her long before he actually sees her. The air feels almost delicate, gossamer-tinged, as she begins to come into view.

She is tucked away, arms curled around herself, head bowed, shoulders shaking. She's crying, he realizes, and it hurts—pain stinging in his chest as though it belonged to him (as though he had any right to it at all). He saw her loneliness when combing through her memories, but it is something different to hold it within his own chest, to see it in her tears when she finally lifts her head and notices him before her.

After a moment she asks, "Why are you here?"

"You must have called me." At that she frowns.

"I didn't— I don't want you here." It is not filled with the anger he remembers. _monster, snake, murderer—_

"I know."

They remain silent, until she suddenly wipes her hand across her face.

"People keep telling me they know me. No one does."

"But I do." He doesn't mean to sound so pathetic, so earnest, but she seems to always inevitably draw the boy back from the shadows.

He wants to tell her, to tell her so much—but she has that look on her face, that same one when he offered her everything, heart-rendering steel. And so he remains silent.

She vanishes not long after and he is left alone in the dark.

—

Rey carries Jakku with her every step, like an iron ball and chain reminding her she will never leave it behind. When she still glances up at each passing ship, knowing there's no one coming for her, but still believing, one day—

Her greatest weakness, he had called it. That man risen from her nightmares, that boy gazing at her with something like wonder. With each passing day, the First Order's grasp on him seems to become firmer, and sometimes it feels like she's just traded one hopeless dream for another.

And she knows, _she knows_, how pointless, how naive, this lingering tendril of faith is. The Luke she had met would have counseled her to abandon it, Finn would have called her insane to even entertain the thought, and Kylo Ren?

_Let the past die. Kill it if you have to._

But he had also whispered back to her, by the soft light of the fire, _you're not alone, I feel it too_. So maybe, one day—

Well, she knew all about waiting, didn't she?

—

He sees her training one day, a mimicry of the lessons she had taken from his memories. There is none of his uncle's careful hand in her harried, frustrated motions though. He recognizes the rage in her, the desire to overcome this weakness, as she swings a staff through the air with more strength than necessary. But this hesitation, this long practiced patience holding him back as he waits her out, this is foreign to him.

How much had they plucked asunder from the other, until there no longer was a Rey or Kylo Ren, no you nor I, remaining—but simply one lost, lonely creature grasping at its own reflection? He does not dwell on the thought when he sees her start, appearing to finally notice him.

Her mouth is set in a firm, frustrated line, but before she can shut him out again, he speaks.

"When I had first become Skywalker's apprentice, my abilities were still... unstable. I had quickly surpassed the others in raw strength, but I could not control it. It took a great deal of time before I began to understand."

Her initial wariness seems to fade, as she lowers her staff, curious. He continues, "If you need help-"

"I can't call the saber anymore," she quickly admits, shame tinging her voice as she gestures to the weapon lying a fair distance away. He doesn't recognize it-she must have created her own, finally tired of the heavy price the previous one had extracted. He remembers them tearing his grandfather's lightsaber asunder, his birthright throwing them apart once more. He remembers waking, head pounding, only to find her vanished from his sight_ again_.

"You can not force it to your side. Wait for its call and answer."

"But—"

"It's yours, shaped by your own hand. It will return to you, all you need to do is wait."

Her eyes are wide for a moment, surprised by his words. Eventually she closes her eyes in silence and reaches out. Only the breeze brushes her hand, but she does not falter. Finally, the blade flies to her hand once more.

Weapon in hand, she turns to him, something light and mischievous now in her eyes. "A great deal of time?"

"Skywalker was never lax in informing me I had little patience," he grumbles, glancing off, suddenly sullen.

It's only when he when he looks down at her again, he sees her face alight with a smile. She ignites the lightsaber, but her stance is open, almost carefree.

"Another round then? I'll give you a head start."

"Your gratitude is truly something to behold, but so be it," he replies, and she grins then, eyes bright as he moves towards her.

—

Later, much later, they are standing side to side once more, sabers shrieking, silencing the specter that has stalked his family through generations. It feels like a black curse has finally been lifted, when she faces him once more. Hair wild, clothes singed, she is undone, she is beautiful.

"Ben," she whispers. She is reaching out towards him once again, a glimmer of hesitation fading with each second.

My enemy, _my beloved_—

He thinks he has never been so close to the light as in this moment.

—

_(you went straight to the dark)_

"Rey."

He is so close now, she can feel the warmth on her fingertips as he takes her hand.

She looks up to see his eyes, gentle, aglow—

and she understands in this moment, how easy it was to fall.

—

_and you are sinking, sinking, sleeper_


End file.
